


Heavy Loads

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, The Big C (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because Sharing is Caring, Exhibitionism, First Time Blow Jobs, Group Assisted Sex, Hannibal Extended Universe, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Nigel's Big Quiet Bisexual Panic, Recreational Drug Use, Use of the Word Daddy But Not Daddy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Traffic is worse than usual, bumper to bumper with uncooperative lights. Nigel has to circle the block four times to find somewhere to wedge his delivery truck; it’s going to be a hustle to get his coffee and deliver his load on time. He hops out and locks up, scratching his chest through his coveralls as he walks.The shop’s called Some Like It Hot, and even thesignlooks ready for a drag show. Nigel’s not homophobic—well, not much, at least—but the feather boas and fairy lights and garish pink walls are suffocating. There’s glitter on the menu, and lilac leather booths, and vintage lighted makeup mirrors on the walls, and the whole place smells like a goddamn boudoir.“You here for coffee?” the barista asks. He's a skinny little twink with piercing eyes and a pink, pink smirk. “Or is there something else I can do for you?”





	Heavy Loads

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for [Bear Fest](https://lookingforabear.tumblr.com/post/162052166592/aye-so-i-started-having-thoughts-about-this-a-lot), otherwise known as #[LeeFallonLove](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/leefallonlove). Thanks to the lovely [FrostyLee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyLee/works) for organizing the event, and to [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie/works) for betaing! <3
> 
> As mentioned in the tags, the word "daddy" is used, not in the context of daddy _kink,_ but in a more traditional sense as a slang term from gay culture, especially in the leather and bear communities. Emphasis on the word bear, there; this is Lee Fallon, after all. ;D

There’s a bodega down on 27th where Nigel always buys his first and second coffees, both at once, black as his mother’s soul. The coffee never fails to be as fresh and hot as little Maria behind the register, all early twenties curves and flirts that lead to nowhere. No frills attached, and Nigel likes it that way; he couldn’t do fancy if he wanted to, not after his prison bid.

His truck is loaded down with mattresses today, and moving them is going to be a bitch, and he’s going to have to drink away his lower back pain when he gets home to his new place. Still, Nigel’s got Maria’s tits and a coffee for each hand to look forward to, and—

“Fucking shit,” he says, staring at the shuttered bodega, closed for the day. Nigel parallel parked for fucking nothing.

Working man’s got to have his caffeine fix, though, especially when said man’s between paychecks and too broke for blow. Nigel knows there’s some hipster joint a few streets over, in gentrified Chelsea; he dropped some theater kids off there back when he had his hack license.

Didn’t tip. Little fuckers.

Traffic is worse than usual, bumper to bumper with uncooperative lights. Nigel has to circle the block four times to find somewhere to wedge his delivery truck; it’s going to be a hustle to get his coffee and deliver his load on time. He hops out and locks up, scratching his chest through his coveralls as he walks.

The shop’s called Some Like It Hot, and even the  _ sign _ looks ready for a drag show. Nigel’s not homophobic—well, not much, at least—but the feather boas and fairy lights and garish pink walls are suffocating. There’s glitter on the menu, and lilac leather booths, and vintage lighted makeup mirrors on the walls, and the whole place smells like a goddamn boudoir.

Nigel scrubs a hand over his face. If Priscilla, Queen of the Desert pops up behind the counter to take his order, he’s going to take a walk into traffic, because it is too fucking early for this shit.

He crosses his arms on the glass counter, restraining himself from hitting the bell repeatedly for service. The place is pretty empty for a twenty-four hour joint, so Nigel’s got a few minutes to spare. “Please tell me you’ve got coffee without sprinkles,” he calls out, relieved when someone breezes through the beaded curtain to the back.

The barista looks like he fucking belongs here, like he’s just another accessory for the shop, and Nigel is suddenly much less of a homophobe than he was five seconds ago. It’s impossible not to drag his eyes down the boy’s body, a skinny little twink with piercing eyes and a pink, pink smirk. His lips are the same shade as his lacy bra and his high heels; the tiny denim shorts are as illegal as the kid probably is, knowing Nigel’s luck. All he really knows is that he wants to lick his way up those smooth, strong legs, dip his tongue along the purple fishnets, and mouth at the zipper of his short shorts.

Nigel never gives head, not to anyone, not even in his ten years at Rikers, but he’s two seconds from dropping to his knees right now. So much for sneering at flamboyance.

“You here for coffee?” the barista asks. “Or is there something else I can do for you?”

“That’s a loaded goddamn question.” Nigel tries to look at his face. If only the light wasn’t catching on the silver tassels hanging down from the band of the bra.

“Up here,” and Nigel finally manages.  _ God, _ he’s a pretty boy. “I can’t decide if you want to eat me, beat me, or some interesting combination of both.”

Nigel winces. It’s been too long since he got his dick wet. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“I’ve been rattled worse,” says the twink. “And I came to work straight from the club.” He huffs a laugh and adds, “You obviously haven’t traveled my circuit in your entire life.”

“Went to my share when I was younger. Never ran into a half-naked man, though.”

His smile looks forced. “Should I go change?”

“Only if you want to,” says Nigel, and the boy’s face relaxes a little. “I’m good either way, trust me. Just not fucking used to getting hot and bothered at four o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll go change—” He peers at the name embroidered on Nigel’s coveralls. “Nigel. Nice to meet you, I think.”

“Maybe you don’t want nice.” Nigel’s not used to his heart beating this fast when he flirts. Regardless, it’s the right angle to take; the barista rolls his shoulders back, and licks his lips, batting his eyelashes once before he heads back through the curtain to change.

Honestly, Nigel’s not sure the new outfit is any better, though there’s decidedly less skin showing. The sleeves of his baby blue henley are pushed up to his elbows; it accentuates his eyeshadow, which highlight his eyes, and Nigel’s trying desperately not to go head over heels for someone he just met, and not only because his sexuality just came into question. His jeans are tight, and he’s still wearing the fucking pumps, probably since they match the apron.

“Lee,” mumbles Nigel, reaching across the counter to thumb the underside of Lee’s name tag. “Suits you, gorgeous.”

Lee shakes his head, smiling. “You’re kind of rusty. It’s adorable.”

“A decade out of practice.” Might as well be honest, considering all Nigel did was ogle him for an embarrassingly long time.

“Locked up?” Lee asks, and Nigel nods. “A bad boy, then?”

Nigel’s not used to shuddering, but fuck if he doesn’t at that.

Lee’s grin grows wider, eyebrows raising in what looks like interest. “So one coffee, no sprinkles?”

“Two,” says Nigel, breathing deeply.

“You always take two at the same time, Nigel?” His deep breaths stick in his throat, but Lee saves him the trouble of trying to answer. “I’ll make you a double,” and he turns around to the coffee.

Nigel’s eyes float downward.

“You’re staring at my ass, aren’t you?”

“It’s a fucking delicious ass.”

Lee wiggles. “I owe it all to marathon training. And yoga. And clubbing, I suppose.” He cranes his head around and asks, “You busy tonight?”

Nigel swallows. “I could be, if you’re offering.”

“It’s just there’s a party tonight,” says Lee, “and I need a plus one, and I might be wearing something as equally fun as what you were drooling over a few minutes ago.”

“I suppose I could make some time.”

Lee turns around with the tallest travel cup of coffee Nigel’s ever seen. “You have tomorrow off?” he asks, digging around in a box next to the register, pulling out a neon purple Sharpie. Nigel grunts in lieu of words; it makes Lee pause, and then he meets Nigel’s eyes. His eyes are the most obscene blue-green, and Nigel might just fucking drown. “Good,” Lee finally says, then continues scribbling on a cardboard sleeve. “I intend to keep you up all night.”

“Do you now?”

The sleeve slips on the coffee; the cup settles on top of the glass; Lee lunges across the counter, grabs onto the zippered lapel of Nigel’s coveralls, and crushes their lips together. He tastes like cherries, probably from his shiny lip gloss, but there’s an underlying bitterness, a metallic film on his tongue that’s like sucking on a penny. Nigel doesn’t care; he’s kissed worse drugs than ecstasy out of someone’s mouth, and Lee kisses like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. Besides, Nigel’s guaranteed to taste like the cheap cigarettes he smoked for breakfast.

Lee bites Nigel’s lip, perfect teeth that tug back and forth, that worry and nibble and suck. He’s never submitted a day in his life until now, caught in the wake of a boy that takes exactly what he wants and leaves the ruins behind without a second thought. It’s so obvious that Lee lives day to day, moment to moment, that he’s going to love Nigel for one night and then move on.

Nigel can fucking live with that, because he knows he’ll be the one to change Lee’s mind.

“You going to roll tonight, baby darling?” Lee’s breath is sharp against Nigel’s mouth—the first victory Nigel thinks he’s had so far.

“You want me to, daddy?” He pulls down the zipper tooth by tooth, then runs his finger up and down Nigel’s exposed chest, through the curls as silver as the hair on his head. “Oh shit,” Lee whispers. “Oh, I didn’t know you were a polar bear.”

If Nigel cared about more than the raging hard-on in his boxers, he’d ask what the fuck that meant.

“And here I thought I’d be the one ordering  _ you _ around,” Lee continues, and Nigel especially doesn’t care what a polar bear is, only happy that he apparently is one. “Aren’t you lucky I switch?”

A sudden and sobering thought. “Only if you’re legal.”

“Nineteen. Do I need to check your ID?”

“Thirty years your goddamn senior.” Fuck if Lee’s eyes don’t flutter closed. “You’d let me bend you over the fucking counter right now, wouldn’t you?”

Lee answers with his lips. Nigel wants to pull him over into one of those stupid purple booths and fuck him for hours. Unfortunately, “We’ve both got work, gorgeous boy.”

“And here I thought you were rusty.”

“I’m feeling fucking inspired.”

Lee sighs, releasing Nigel’s coveralls, picking up Nigel’s coffee, instead. “Pick me up at eleven,” he says. “Address is on your double coffee. Oh, and Nigel?”

“Yeah?”

“I can take two, too.” He winks, and Nigel nearly trips over his own feet on the way out the door.

It’s the best coffee he’s ever fucking had.

 

* * *

 

Nigel has no idea what to wear. The last time he was in a club, Nigel was in another fucking country, and he wore slacks and a loose patterned overshirt. He’s got slacks and a nice pair of shoes in his closet—a gift from the halfway house for his first post-prison interview—but he’s not wearing a goddamn business casual polo to what might be a date.

Then again.

It’s a soft white, piqué striped, and mostly form-fitting. The buttons gape some in the front, but Nigel has a feeling that Lee won’t mind. He checks the sleeves, and they’re definitely long enough to roll a pack of cigarettes in, and that’s what matters most.

Nigel pictures Lee’s lips around a Lucky, imagines lighting it for him, passing it back and forth. His cock is entirely too interested to stay down at a party.

The subway’s a nightmare as always, all tourists and bums and shitty hipsters with their shitty guitars. Worse, the trip’s too long, giving Nigel time to think about not Lee, exactly, but his gender, which is confusing the fuck out of him.

Anal isn’t a problem; Nigel’s good for any hole. It’s being attracted to a man that’s irritating him, Nigel, who uses slurs and crude words like his third language. But maybe Lee’s a transvestite or something, what with the get up. Transvestites don’t bother him; Nigel’s never met one that wasn’t friendly, even though he wasn’t interested.

If he fucks Lee, is he going to turn gay? How the fuck does this even work? Nigel wants him so  _ badly, _ wants to suck him down and make him scream, wants to pound his ass after so hard that he bruises.

This is confusing. Nigel’s not good with being confused, so fuck it: he  _ wants _ Lee, he’s going to  _ get _ Lee, and Lee’s going to  _ fucking love it. _

Lee lives in the heavily-gentrified part of Chelsea, and Nigel has to wonder how a barista affords to live somewhere that isn’t utter shit. He presses the buzzer and feels conspicuous even standing there. A decade ago, Nigel would’ve been dressed nice enough to pass for polite company.

But Nigel’s not worried about how he’s clothed as soon as Lee opens the door. Motherfucker’s wearing pants that suspiciously look like chaps, except they’re skin-tight from waist to ankle. They hug the inside of Lee’s thighs before curving down across the knee to cover the sides of his shins. Rows of little metal studs trail along the same lines, pants pulled over top of bright pink hose. Nigel follows the metal down to Lee’s feet, which is when he realizes that the pants are also stiletto boots; he follows them up, and—

“Your pants lace up.”

Lee laughs. “I had noticed, believe it or not.”

Nigel’s going to break out in a sweat if he keeps looking. “I mean that it’s laced over your fucking cock.”

“That is what I use to fuck with, yes.” Lee turns, gesturing to his ass. “They lace up back here, too. Easy access is important.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Nigel runs a hand through his hair, though he’d rather rub across the close-shaved stubble of Lee’s. “Do I even want to know what you’re wearing under that leather jacket?”

Lee walks two fingers up the buttons of Nigel’s shirt and says, “Easy access is important everywhere, papa bear.” He taps Nigel’s chest with the palm of his hand. “Come on. We’re not going far.”

Nigel fucking hopes not, because he’s a heartbeat away from taking Lee in the damn hallway.

 

* * *

 

The party is in an equally-ridiculous apartment building—“Jimmy invited fucking everyone,” explains Lee. “No worries about cops, so feel free to ingest at leisure.”

Sure enough, the place is packed, and Nigel is relieved to see that he’s not the only one dressed normally; he may not know exactly what Lee's wearing, or what he's into, but the black leather buckled around the front of his throat was enough to make Nigel worry about what he might be getting himself into. There’s some scary-looking fuckers scattered about, yes, and a shitton of leather, but the host looks as casual as Nigel does as he comes up to kiss cheeks with Lee.

“Well don’t you look good enough to eat!” says Jimmy, like he’s the stereotype to rule all stereotypes, the Queen Mother himself. “And I see you found a bear to do just that.” He squints at Nigel. “An incredibly nervous bear—can I get you something to loosen you up?”

“I’ll be good as long as I can fucking smoke.”

Jimmy chortles; Nigel’s never heard anyone actually do that before. “You do whatever you want so long as you promise to do  _ him _ before the night is over.”

That almost makes Nigel relax. “No problem there.”

“Excellent!” He claps his hands, rubbing his palms together. “Lee, my love, would you allow me to take your coat to reveal whatever you decided not to wear?”

Lee smirks, unzips his coat, and lets it slide off his arms. He’s wearing a complex series of buckles and leather, across his shoulders and framing his chest, torso bare. Nigel could probably figure out how to take it off him if he tried, but he can’t exactly think right now, because Lee has a silver bar through each nipple.

Holy. Shit.

“You’re gonna give the old men heart attacks,” Jimmy says following a low whistle. Nigel doesn’t say a goddamn thing, but only because he’s pulling out his pack of Lucky Strikes. It irks him when Jimmy snaps his fingers and holds his hand out to Nigel expectantly. He knows better than to insult a host, though, so he hands over a cigarette.

“Too much?” Lee asks. “Or not enough?”

“Depends,” says Jimmy. “Your friend mind if I steal a nibble?”

Nigel very much minds, but his dick minds more. He just shrugs, watching the way Lee’s eyes widen and sparkle when he does.

Lee steps in front of Nigel, back pushed against Nigel’s chest, one hand wrapped around the back of Nigel’s neck, the other reaching around to grab Nigel’s ass. It's reflexive when Nigel winds his own arms around Lee's waist, when he begins to kiss and mouth at Lee's neck.

“Whatever you say, daddy.” Lee sounds breathless already. Nigel knows tonight's going to make every goddamn sexless day fucking worth it.

Jimmy’s leering, cigarette lit and held in his right hand like an accessory. Nigel thought he intended to kiss Lee, but Jimmy crouches slightly so he can flick the tip of his tongue over Lee's pierced nipple.

Lee gasps, arching toward him, and Nigel can't stop his own snarl, or the way his hands possessively fly to cover the laces over Lee's cock. He pins Lee against his own body, feels him shiver in his arms, head thrown back against Nigel’s shoulder. There are people starting to glance over, but for no longer than a moment, excepting a cheeky-looking asshole who's migrated to Jimmy’s side.

“Nigel,” Lee begins, and Nigel has no idea how he's managing speech with Nigel’s hands stroking him through the leather and Jimmy sucking on his nipple like a starving man. “Nigel, this beautiful bastard is Anthony. Anthony, meet my papa bear.”

Anthony gives Nigel a knowing look. “Careful, Nigel. Lee's a honey pot if ever there was.”

“Fuck you, too, Cleopatra,” says Lee, laugh turning into a happy hum as Jimmy pulls back with a final bite and tug.

“Jimmy, you should have told me it was this kind of party.” Anthony elbows him out of the way, and he doesn’t ask, simply goes for the nipple that isn’t shiny with spit

“Well it  _ wasn't,” _ Jimmy insists, finally taking a drag off of his cigarette. “Not until Sex On Barely Legal Legs Fallon walked in, anyway.”

Anthony gives Lee’s nipple a parting lick, tongue flat, dragging the bar and pulling the hottest whimper out of Lee that Nigel’s ever heard. The grin plastered on Anthony’s face is just this side of sleazy; Nigel hates the man on principle. “So is this the buffet or—”

“This is  _ mine,” _ and Nigel is gratified when Jimmy snorts and pulls an open-mouthed Anthony out of punching distance.

Lee pulls away, but only far enough to put his arms around Nigel’s neck. “You're taking this all very well, you know.”

“How do you mean?”

“You might be the straightest man to ever buy a cup of coffee from me,” Lee explains. “Straightest man to ever salivate over me, too, but I really thought you would've beat a path back to the door by now.”

Nigel goes for his pack of cigarettes, only to realize he’s managed to drop them in the floor. “I'm trying not to think about how I've fucking turned into a potential cocksucking fa—” He sighs. “Probably shouldn't say that here.”

“You could just focus on calling me a little slut,” suggests Lee, arching an eyebrow. “I am one. Won't hurt my feelings.” His face suddenly softens. “And I appreciate you saving your impending bisexual panic for another day, because I want to get fucked up with and fucked by you.”

“That I can deal with.”

It's the truth, too; Nigel’s always trusted himself more when he's coked up than when he's sober. This isn’t the shit he’s been buying off his coworkers, but fucking  _ pure, _ like what Nigel used to move back in the old country. The blow is a pale yellow, like a thin coat of pollen, shimmering clumps that make his goddamn mouth water.

Lee takes two lines off Jimmy’s glass table, but Nigel’s not used to quality anymore, so he only does one. Half an hour later, Lee decides he wants Nigel to catch up, to snort a bump off of his collarbone, so there's another line, and Nigel’s heart is beating so fast that his rib cage might crack.

It's  _ so fucking good, _ though, the way their skin buzzes together. Nigel’s hyperfocused on the curve of Lee's spine and the way his tights pick and drag against his fingers as he runs them over the exposed parts of Lee’s legs. He’s straddled on Nigel’s lap, has been since they came out here on the balcony for fresh air.

“You just wanted to get away from Anthony,” Lee says. His pupils aren’t as dilated as they were, but his kohl-lined, silver-shadowed eyes are still glittering, moonlit.

“I’d like to get rid of him fucking permanently.”

Lee’s smile is as addictive as those seafoam-mutable eyes. “My poor grumpy papa bear.”

“That should bother me,” says Nigel, hooking his fingers in the useless belt loops of Lee’s pants. “You calling me old, I mean, that ought to piss me off.”

“But you like it.”

“Maybe I like watching you say it.”

Lee threads his fingers through Nigel’s hair, half pulling, half massaging his scalp. “What else do you like watching me do?”

“So far?” Nigel hums like he has to consider it. “I’m a jealous fucker, you know that?”

“That hadn’t escaped me.”

“Watching you get teased and played with, though?” Nigel swallows; Lee’s is far more obscene when he follows suit. “Shit, Lee, I’ve known you less than a fucking day and I hardly know myself anymore, either.”

“Well I would certainly like to know you better,” murmurs Lee, beginning to bite along Nigel’s jaw. “Want to do another line first?”

He can’t help but chuckle. “A slut  _ and _ a coke fiend? Did Rikers release me into 1980?”

“I simply think we should live life to the fullest.” Lee shifts in Nigel’s lap, leaning back again, one hand on each shoulder. He sounds serious for the first time since Nigel met him. “You never know when it’s going to be your time. Why waste a moment when you could be enjoying yourself?”

“Voice of experience, yeah?”

Lee nods, still nodding as he presses his lips to Nigel’s. The kiss is sweeter than Nigel thought Lee could manage, not frantic or sexually charged. It’s a kiss of the young and curious, almost tentative, like Lee’s never kissed like this before. 

“Why do you keep calling me papa bear?” Nigel asks quietly, a question into Lee’s mouth.

“You’re big,” says Lee, “and gruff, and hairy. And it’s not a kinky thing, you know; calling someone daddy is common enough. You’re a bear, and you’re so much older than me, and I—” He presses his forehead to Nigel’s; their eyes are so close that Nigel’s vision crosses. “I’ve always wanted someone like you.”

Nigel palms the back of Lee’s head with one hand, kisses him again and holds Lee as strongly as possible. When Lee moans, Nigel takes the opportunity to stroke their tongues together, to coax his way into Lee’s mouth, to make him feel devoured like he knows Lee wants. None of this makes sense, this hunger Nigel feels for another man, but fuck  _ it _ and fuck  _ him. _

“What else do you want, gorgeous?” Nigel asks. His voice is as rough as he feels. “Want me to take you here in front of everyone, show your friends who you fucking belong to?”

“Fuck,  _ yes.” _

“Such a hungry little attention whore, aren’t you?” Nigel thumbs at the stud through Lee’s nipple, holds him tight as he arches and squirms. “Nice of me to let someone else have a go at you first, wasn’t it?” Lee doesn’t answer, only whines as Nigel pulls and worries the little silver bar. “Bet you want to ride me backwards, put on a fucking show. Want me to hold your arms so that fucking anyone can come up and touch you.”

Lee gasps loud enough for heads to turn inside as Nigel lets his hand trail down to the front laces of his pants, running his fingers up and down his cock, already straining at the leather. “Yeah, papa—fuck, papa,  _ please.” _

Nigel grins. This is a whole different kind of possessive; he could get used to this.

Lee drags him back inside, back to Jimmy who fucking  _ giggles _ when Lee asks for lube. Jimmy sends his partner off to find some—“This is why we all like Lee so much,” he tells Nigel. “He’s so generous with himself.”

“He’s going to be a lot less fucking generous now,” says Nigel. It’s hot as fuck, the way Jimmy tugs on Lee’s ear with his teeth, but Nigel still wants to growl and shove him away, claim Lee for his own.

“Do you think you can tame Lee?” Jimmy asks.

“I already fucking have,” Nigel tells him. “Haven’t I, baby darling?”

Lee’s unbuttoning Nigel’s shirt with speed; Nigel’s surprised the buttons aren’t simply popping off. “Love it when you call me that, papa.”

“Jesus,” says Jimmy, pulling a cigarette out of goddamn nowhere, “I love it when you call him that, too. You two fuckbirds need a room or—”

“Just a chair. My goddamn smokes, if you can find them.”

“Think fast,” and Nigel hasn’t heard that voice yet, but three little packs of lube hit him in the forehead, so he assumes it’s Brian. “And Jimmy stole your Luckies.”

Nigel opens his mouth about the time an armchair hits the back of his knees; it’s plush, thank fuck, considering how rough his fifty-year-old body falls into it. Lee barely keeps his balance, aided in no small part by Jimmy, who grabs Lee by the elbow and pulls him back into assumed-to-be-Brian’s arms. No wonder Lee wanted a plus one for this party, the little fucking exhibitionist.

Brian walks Lee forward until his crotch is essentially in Nigel’s face—“Go on, new guy,” Brian tells him. “You’re calling the shots.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches out to start untying Lee’s pants.

A pair of arms reach around Nigel’s head, go straight for Lee’s nipples, because apparently everyone in this room knows his hot spots. Nigel knows without a doubt they’ve all fucked Lee, and it’s arousing and infuriating all at once. He’s bewildered, quietly, but the conflicting emotions are helping Nigel do this, to be here in the middle of a fucking circle of fucking testosterone without freaking the fuck out and punching somebody.

“He’s a lovely little thing, isn’t he?” says a voice in Nigel’s ear—Anthony, he thinks. “I do enjoy playing with him at Jimmy’s monthly soirees. But I think I’d much rather kiss you,” and Anthony licks along the shell of Nigel’s ear. “If you’re game, that is,” and his breath is warm against the trail of his spit.

Nigel closes his eyes, hands still on autopilot, working the leather cords through the eyelets, because he wants to peel these pants off of Lee’s pretty skin. He wants to kiss the asshole standing behind him, and nothing is making sense.

Lee’s fingers reach out and comb through Nigel’s hair, soothing, calming. “It’s okay, papa,” he says. “I want to watch him kiss you, too.”

So Nigel turns his head and lets Anthony find his lips. He’s a much different kisser than Lee, all firm pressure and cocky confidence. Someone swats Nigel’s hands away from Lee’s laces, and then Nigel has his fingers in Anthony’s hair, and Lee is groaning Nigel’s name off in the distance. But Anthony’s arms never move away from Lee, and Nigel is glad for that; he doesn’t think he could deal with another man’s hands on him right now.

They’re still kissing, no tongue, no teeth. Nigel hears the scrape of legs against the floor, then smells his own cigarettes. “Remind me to call the cable company, honeybee,” he says. “I need to thank them for the free Pay-Per-View.” The sound of another quick kiss. “Anthony, you asshole, Lee’s tits are gonna be sore for days at this rate.”

Anthony pulls away, smiling brightly when Nigel opens his eyes. “I have a feeling there’s a very talented mouth in Lee’s life who’ll kiss them all better.” He winks at Nigel, and then releases Lee, stands back up, and walks away.

Nigel just keeps staring at the place where Anthony’s face was until Jimmy sighs and puts a cigarette between Nigel’s lips. “Want me to walk you through it, new meat?”

“Nah,” Nigel says around a puff. Nicotine fuels his bravado. He looks back up at Lee, who’s nipples are, indeed, an angry red, pants completely untied, Brian leaving teeth marks along the corded muscle of his neck. “Nah,” he repeats, “I’ve fucking got this.”

It’s less pulling Lee’s pants down his legs than it is jerking them off, making Lee gasp, sending a tremor through his ridiculously strong-looking thighs. Nigel doesn’t look at his cock just yet, preferring to lick and tease his way up and down the waxed-smooth skin, listening to Lee pant, sometimes muffled by another mouth.

“Cocksucking for the first time is easier if you focus on doing something else, too,” says Jimmy, pulling the cigarette back out of Nigel’s mouth and taking the last drag before stubbing it out on the bottom of his shoe. “Put Lee’s legs over your shoulders; Brian can hold him up alright.”

“Thanks for volunteering me, Jimmy.” Brian sounds like he’s talking through clenched teeth.

“You know you love it.” Jimmy doesn’t wait for permission, just hauls Lee’s legs up one at a time, settling him in so that Nigel has to open his mouth for Lee’s cock in order for there to be room. Lee is like a warm piece of steel on Nigel’s tongue, but the taste is synthetic, like a banana popsicle, and Nigel wonders when anyone had time to roll a condom onto him. It’s not exactly comfortable for him, the weight of Lee’s cock in his mouth, even though Nigel has spent hours thinking about it, but Lee is cursing like he’s a second Nigel.

He tries to sweep out the parts of his brain that are screaming less pleasant obscenities, that are railing against Nigel for debasing himself like this, for tarnishing his masculinity or some other bullshit. It's easier to think about not thinking than it is to not think itself, so Nigel does that. Nigel thinks about not thinking, and takes it upon himself to make Lee not think, either.

Lee's cock has been in his mouth longer than he expected it to be. He's never known girls outside of porn and cheap whorehouses to willingly choke on a dick for long. Maybe he doesn't have enough of it in his mouth to physically bother him, so Nigel sinks down a little more. Gagging becomes an issue quickly, and Nigel backs off, but Lee still sounds like he's having a fantastic time just visiting the inside of Nigel’s face.

His jaw twinges, but Nigel is fucking determined now. He's not leaving until the job’s done, goddammit. The last blow job Nigel had was less than stellar, not to mention a lifetime ago. He remembers what he used to like, however, what his favorite techniques were.

Experimentally, Nigel laves his tongue around Lee’s cock, circles the tip, then sucks.

Lee empties into the condom, the latex growing warm between Nigel’s tongue and the roof of his mouth, and all Nigel can hear is his Lee crying “papa” and “Nigel” and “fuck”.

Well.  _ That's _ definitely happening again 

“Shit on a shingle, Nigel.” Jimmy moves Lee’s legs back enough so that, instead of his thighs, his knees are propped on Nigel’s shoulders. “I was going to tell you to play with his ass while you went, but you’re apparently a champion cocksucker. Wish I had a trophy for you.”

“Jimmy?” Before he can respond, Nigel says, “Shut the fuck up and get me another cigarette.”

Following a single shriek-laugh, Jimmy does, lights it and pokes it in between Nigel’s teeth while Nigel’s tearing open a pack of lube and squeezing it onto his fingers. Maybe next time, if God is good and there  _ is _ a next time, he’ll open Lee up nice and slow, take so long that Lee forgets his own name. Right now, though, Nigel needs to be buried to the hilt in that sweet ass.

It takes some wiggling, some finesse, but Nigel finally slides his first finger into tight heat. Lee’s breathing has become erratic—“You’re overstimulated as fuck, aren’t you?” asks Nigel.

They meet eyes for the first time since Lee came, and Lee is a beautiful wreck, bruises blooming up his neck from Brian’s teeth, sweat dripping down his chest to his navel, tiny whines with each breath, staring at Nigel like he’s the second coming of Christ.

“Would’ve thought a dirty fucking slut like you would be used to this kind of treatment,” he says. Lee’s mouth forms an involuntary O, more jaw-dropped than anything else. Nigel becomes aware of his own erection again as Jimmy pulls it out of his pants for him, as he starts lubing him up. His hips snap into Jimmy’s fist as he fingers Lee just as fast.

He changes the angle of his hand when he feels it getting numb, and Lee shouts tiredly. Nigel watches, fascinated, as Lee’s cock twitches again.

“Jesus fuck,” Nigel says, shoving in a second finger too soon if Lee’s grimace means anything. “You love it, don’t you, being a goddamn party favor, getting passed around until you don’t even know whose dick is whose.”

_ “God, _ yes.” Jimmy's rolling a condom over Nigel, lubing him up a second time, but Nigel’s only got eyes for Lee. “Love the way you watch me, like you’re about to eviscerate anyone who touches me, but you do let them touch me, because it’s your—fuck, it’s your say, Nigel, please, for shit’s sake,  _ fuck me, daddy.” _

With a snarl, Nigel yanks out his fingers. Brian transfers Lee’s weight to Nigel’s arms, folding Lee almost in fucking half, but holds on long enough for Nigel to line himself up, push up into Lee for the first inch, and then Brian lets go and lets gravity do the work.

Lee  _ screams, _ and the rest of the room starts paying more attention than they probably already were.

Nigel leans forward, letting his thighs and forearms support Lee, and starts fucking him. There’s nothing but the expanse of Lee’s young body lying there limp, head lolling, arms useless, hands hanging toward the floor. Nigel half expects Brian to unzip his pants and guide his dick into Lee’s waiting mouth, but he doesn’t, which is good, because Nigel would hate to kill him. Jimmy does giggle and flick the bars of Lee’s abused nipples, first one, then the other, nonchalant as he smiles down at Lee while Brian lights Jimmy’s fresh cigarette.

Lee looks positively beatific. Nigel’s transfixed, wants to kiss the corners of Lee’s now-chapped lips and whisper whatever filth is currently coming out of his mouth into Lee’s ears instead of announcing it for the room to hear.

Not that he has the slightest fucking clue what he’s saying. Not that he fucking cares.

He comes too soon for his tastes, but keeps going as long as he can, chasing Lee’s second orgasm, watching Lee spill into his condom again with a high-pitched grunt.

Nigel’s still riding high when Brian settles Lee into his lap, when Jimmy takes off both of their condoms and covers them up with a soft throw.

“You the fucking gay sex fairies or something?” Nigel manages to ask, still waiting for Lee to open his eyes. He’s never fucked someone until they blacked out. It’s incredibly validating.

“Nah,” says Brian, ruffling Nigel’s sweaty hair. “I’m just the messenger. Jimmy’s the fucking fairy.” Brian jumps when Jimmy slaps his ass. “Thanks for the show,” he manages as Jimmy pulls him away.

Nigel manages to find his cigarettes and lighter. His hands are shaking, but he gets it to his mouth and sparks it, sits and puffs and stares at Lee. He has the wild urge to kiss Lee’s forehead, so he does.

“‘M keepin’ you,” Lee mumbles.

“I’m okay with that.”

Lee rubs his eyes, makeup forgotten and now smeared. He blinks his way back to reality, pursing his lips for a kiss. He tastes like other people, so Nigel licks it away until it’s Lee and Lee alone. Lee seems perfectly happy to let Nigel plunder his mouth, so Nigel does until he needs another hit off his Lucky Strike.

“You know you’re gonna freak out about this later, right?” asks Lee, stealing Nigel’s cigarette right from between his lips, putting it between his own, instead. He smokes dramatically, cigarette between his fingers like Jimmy was the one who taught him how, arm falling to the side when he exhales.

“I’ve been freaking the fuck out about this since around four am yesterday.”

“You’ll be alright, papa bear.” Lee strokes his fingertips affectionately down the side of Nigel’s face. “We’ll go back to my place, sleep a few hours. You can make me pancakes while you have your Big Bisexual Panic, and then you can fuck me ‘til I can’t stand up unassisted.”

Nigel reaches down and takes his cigarette back. “Only if you promise to make the coffee,” he says, and takes another drag. All the paper tastes like is Lee.

**Author's Note:**

> Nigel called Lee "baby darling" [in this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871517), too. Just think about Mads saying that, and you'll understand why Nigel keeps using it in my beardogs fics.
> 
> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and [comments](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/profile) validate my existence. <3


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